Tonight's picture was taken in March of 2005, when Mattie was about three years old. He and Peter were goofing around together playing with Mattie's plastic food shapes. They both decided they would use the plastic food in a funny way to scare me. Actually Mattie and Peter were trying to look like beetles. I thought they did a very convincing job!
Poem of the day: It's not spring in my heart by Charlie Brown
I see spring in the yard
Robins on the wing
Trees starting to bud
Songbirds start to sing
Daffodils in bloom
Tulips break the ground
Things are coming back to life
There is new growth all around
But in my heart it's winter
No new life grows here
The ground within lies fallow
I cannot feel you near
One day I may find
A new bud of hope
Watered by patience
And those that I love
And that's when I know
Even though you are gone
You are here in my heart
And my life will go on.
Today marks the 28th week of Mattie's death. I do not understand how these weeks go by so quickly. I think it is only natural that those around me may be expecting that life will be easier for Peter and I now that time has lapsed by. Goodness, I may have thought the same thing two years ago. But unfortunately now I know the reality of such a devastating loss. The reality isn't pretty.
Charlie's poem is very touching to me, because it captures how one's heart is completely devasted by the death of a loved one, and yet the poem ends with a glimmer of hope. Hope that this intense love will be incorporated, remembered, and etched in one's mind and heart, so that eventually one can continue to live and thrive, without needing the physical presence of this love. I think there are many ways one can react to the death of a loved one, and as portrayed in this poem, it would be a natural reaction to such a traumatic death to close one's self off and to not feel anything. I certainly did that for many months. However, over time, what I have discovered is quite the opposite. Mattie's death has left me overly sensitive, on hyper alert to feelings and emotions, and most importantly with the ability to appreciate those closest to me. So in essence I do not feel as if winter is in my heart, on the contrary now I feel as if my heart exists in a very hot, humid Florida day. It is dripping with emotion, swamped with pain, and thirsting for a way to bring it back to equilibrium.
As I mentioned previously on the blog, Ann and her family are away this week on a spring break vacation. It probably comes to my readers as no surprise that when Ann goes away, this can be a very challenging time for me. Challenging because she has a way of keeping me balanced during the week. We usually spend our weekdays together and in essence she isn't only a true friend to me, but on many days she gives me great reason and purpose to get out of bed and re-engage with the world. Not having her around this week is like floating on the ocean without a compass. Despite being on vacation, Ann text messages and sends me one picture each day of her children on their Disneyworld adventure. Today she wrote to me that as they stood in line for a Buzz Lightyear ride, they all thought of Mattie. A very nice sentiment to receive on a Tuesday. Somehow though, Peter and Karen seem to understand the extra support I need this week, and I can say it is so appreciated it.
I spent part of the afternoon with Ann's mom, Mary. When I got to her assisted living facility, I was thoroughly amazed! Amazed because Mary was working with a physical therapist who actually got her up, and walking using a walker. I have known Mary for over a year, and until this very day I have never seen her walk. It was a sight to see. Both myself and Shayla (Mary's care companion) were cheering her on, and I promised the next time I was in a physical therapy session, I would take pictures of Mary walking. Why? Because Mary said she couldn't picture herself walking! She said she had no idea what she looked like, so that is when I thought about taking pictures. Seems like these special achievements must be captured!
After Mary had dinner tonight, I then sat with her in the living room of the assisted living facility. As we were chatting I noticed something out of the corner of my eye through the window. What was it? But deer! There were four deer grazing in the backyard of the facility, and I wheeled Mary closer to the window to watch these lovely creatures. Mary commented, "how many people are lucky enough to see deer in their backyard?" As we continued to watch, it was clear that one deer was a mother, and she had her baby trailing behind her. I couldn't help but pause and imagine Mattie's commentary of this sight. Mattie most likely would have said, "they look like us, a mommy with her baby."
I would like to end tonight's posting with three messages. The first message is from Mattie's oncologist and our friend, Kristen. Kristen wrote, "Thinking about you today. Perhaps it was about this time last year that I started taking care of Mattie? So much has happened in that year. Thinking of you...this Tuesday and every day. Much love."
The second message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "It is wonderful of you to step in and care for Mary while Ann is away. It speaks volumes about you and your wonderful counseling/caring style that Mary is happy to have you as her visitor this week when her daughter is gone. And you hit exactly the right tone, we all need something to look forward to, an event, a visit, a vacation, etc. That's what makes a life worth living rather than just day to day survival. I am glad you got to visit with Debbie last night; it was always very clear from the blog that without Debbie's continued support throughout the whole process of tests, treatment and finally Mattie's release from pain, that things would have been much worse without her efforts on his behalf. I too wonder what Mattie would have looked like, who he would have become had the treatments worked for him. All I can say is that I know he is beyond pain, but I don't believe he is beyond love and that goes on forever in both directions. As always I hold you gently in my thoughts."
The third message is from my friend and colleague, Nancy. Nancy wrote, "The entries that you write often spark a remembrance of questioning my motives and actions following the death of my Mom. Even though it is another natural part of healing and grieving, it generally causes more questions rather than acceptance of the loss. I often think of something she has said or did and wish that we could talk like we once did. The last years of her life were like Mattie's; one of pain and illness. I was so pleased that Mattie was able to embrace so many positive responses to his year of discovery. I call it a 'Year of Discovery' because he always wanted to know what was going on and liked to question the people around him. A natural scientist! I know that he had hard days too, yet, your reports spoke of his trusting that Peter and you would alert him to this side of life too. I applaud the two of you in being able to respond to the questions and actions of the children. So often we process these kinds of behaviors as 'wrong' or 'not respectful' as we see them through our filters and not the uniqueness of children. I think the best days are when children are allowed to be children and you made that possible with Mattie each day. It doesn't surprise me that you see a child more clearly now that your lives have been turned upside down. I think your idea about donating the presents that Mattie never got to open, to the Hospital, is a beautiful way to celebrate his birthday. I knew that you would come up with a fitting celebration. Speedy Red will probably be the last of items put away, if ever. To me that car is an essential part of Mattie Brown! It gave him the ability to move around and feel 'normal' in an abnormal situation. Red is the color of passion and action, so, Speedy Red is perfect. I wouldn't be surprised if you try to take a spin every once in a while (I seem to remember a photo of the two of you in it.) You will know when you can make room for other emotions and experiences. The fact that you got active is such a healthy way to process your grief. I wish I did that more often."
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